


As Long as We Both Shall Love

by quartetship



Series: Ghost Boyfriend Romcom [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Except entirely different, Ghosts, Happy Ending, Its like the movie Ghost, M/M, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Want to stress that part
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22306141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartetship/pseuds/quartetship
Summary: Richie is devastated by the loss of the person he loved the most but never got the chance to tell - and never will. Or will he?--Or: The "Ghost Boyfriend Romcom" that starts out kind of sad but quickly becomes a hilarious mess.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: Ghost Boyfriend Romcom [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605553
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Reddie fandom! I tried to resist this pairing for like six months but here we are. 
> 
> This is a multi-chapter fic and starts off super drippy and sad but I promise it doesn't stay that way long! Inspired by a piece of artwork by [twitter user Bucky](https://twitter.com/princesDameron) that actually depicted angel!Eddie and my brain just spiraled and now there's this. Anyway, buckle up for a long one. Hope you guys enjoy!
> 
> \--

Richie stands from where he has been kneeling in front of a pair of carved initials. 

At forty, his joints don't usually argue too much when he squats and stands again, but today is no average day. While the world around him and the tiny town he grew up in are finally free of the terror imposed by the demon that haunted so many of their lives, his life will never be the same. His knees remind him of that much as he stands, cracking loudly. 

His body is sore, but Richie largely ignores it. There is so much on his mind, so many thoughts sparring for center stage, and most of them are overwhelming and frightening and sad. There isn't much time to think about the stiffness in his muscles when the reason for it is still weighing so heavily on him. 

They left him there. Damn it, he and the others left Eddie's body behind. Eddie, who would be so upset to think that he would even be dragged into a place as filthy as that creature's lair - Eddie, who had died cracking jokes with Richie. 

Richie wipes another wave of tears from his eyes. 

It's for the best, he tries to tell himself. In war, there are always sacrifices. He and his little ragtag group of friends have been fighting this monster for decades. It only makes sense that some of them wouldn't make it to see the last battle. 

Still, he wishes it hadn't been Eddie. Richie wishes he had just died in the deadlights rather than watch the only boy he ever…

But then, that doesn't matter now, either - does it? 

Richie has phone calls to make, gigs to reschedule, tour dates to talk about with his manager. He doesn't want to do any of it, still raw and burning from a loss that no one else would understand. The part of him that is tender and smoldering will have to be tucked away behind smiles and jokes once he leaves Derry. 

Maybe he isn't ready for that. 

A terrifying thought occurs to Richie now, too - one scarier than the demon clown or anything it tormented him with. 

If he leaves Derry again, will he forget everything?

It happened last time. As soon as he was outside the tiny town’s city limits, memories began to slip away. Sure, it was nice being able to escape the feelings of terror that the clown and its torture had saddled him and his friends with. What wasn't as pleasant, though, was the way that everything else slipped away, too. 

He forgot about the beauty of life in his youth. Granted, there wasn't much of it. His childhood was downright damned. But there were bright spots - and his brain left them all behind in Derry. 

What if that happens again, this time? What if he leaves, and suddenly he can't remember the Losers? What if he forgets Beverly’s infectious laugh, Bill’s endearing stutter, or Mike’s reassuring smile? What if he forgets the way he had been bowled over by Ben’s change - and his bravery as a grown man? What if he forgets about Stanley’s sacrifice? 

What if he forgets about Eddie? 

The idea of forgetting everything the two of them had been through is truly terrifying. Eddie didn't just give him every happy memory from his childhood, he had been the highlight of coming back to Derry. Richie can't deny that seeing Eddie's big, dark eyes was more than half of the reason he stayed and fought his fears and the monster that fed on them. 

Of course, now, Eddie is the source of his sadness, too. 

Watching Eddie come to his aid only to lose his own life right there in front of Richie was the worst pain he had ever been through. It’s still so fresh - stinging with every move of his body like a sunburn that couldn't be soothed. In his weaker moments, it is enough to make him wonder if joining him in death might be easier. 

And yet, Richie wants to hang onto it - all of it - forever. 

If he leaves Derry, he might lose it all again. He might forget the way his heart wishes he had just gotten the chance, the nerve to tell Eddie the truth. He might not remember the way that same heart fluttered in his chest like he was a goddamned teenager again when he saw Eddie's face at the restaurant that first night. If Richie leaves, he might leave all of Eddie that he has left - memories - behind when he goes. 

It’s a scary thought, but he knows he will have to face the reality of it eventually. 

For tonight, though, he checks back into the little Derry hotel where he stayed the night before. He wants just one more night with his memories. 

He figures he will sort the rest out with the rise of the sun.

\--

The hotel isn't much, but nothing in Derry is. 

It has a tiny restaurant and bar attached, and a few people recognize him and try to chat. Richie feigns interest for as long as he can, before the way he looks and the exhaustion and grief obviously weighing on him finally send them on their way. 

He is thankful for his room, for the bathroom with a working shower and no need to wonder about what will happen the next day as he stands under it. 

Tomorrow, he will return home. He will go back to his life the way he has been living it for years now, without Derry, without the fucking clown, without the Losers. He will go back to a life where he never got to tell Eddie Kaspbrak how he felt about him because he was too much of an idiot to do so. 

It doesn't matter, he tells himself. He has lived all these years without thinking about it, without thinking he had even a chance at a life that had Eddie in it - why did he ever think that would change? Just because they spent a few days getting reacquainted? Just because they fought the town’s demon - and some of their own - together? Just because Eddie ran headlong into the fold and sacrificed his own carefully constructed safety for Richie's benefit? 

The hot water slips over his face and hair, taking the tears he can't stop with it. 

They should have let him bring Eddie's body home. They should have given him longer to mourn, all content to move on with their own lives so quickly after Eddie was lost. The others should be helping him bear his pain, he thinks for a moment as he stares at himself in the foggy bathroom mirror, towel-wrapped and tired. 

Really, though, this will be his hurt to shoulder. If the curse of Derry will even let him hold onto memories of Eddie, at all. 

The scar on his hand is gone, but Richie wonders if the scars on his heart will ever heal. 

\--

Sleep is easier than it probably should be. Maybe it's the exhaustion. Maybe it's the veritable hotel bar in his bloodstream. Regardless, Richie spends a mercifully short time in his thoughts before sleep takes him. 

He wonders as his consciousness splinters if this is what dying is like. He thinks about everyone he has lost, wonders if Stanley felt this way as life slipped away from him. In a way, Richie hopes so; Stan deserved a peaceful end. All of them do, after everything they've faced. 

Richie only wishes that Eddie could have something better than what he did. 

He died a hero, his mind reminds him. 

He died for you, it adds, and Richie accepts the heaviness of that feeling - the strange longing that comes with it and which will never be satisfied. He takes all of it with him into his dreams. 

\--

Normally, Richie isn't much of a dreamer. 

His mother used to tell him that a good night's sleep means you don't remember your dreams. He doesn't know if that's true, never bothered to look it up, but he knows he hasn't ever really had remarkable dreams. 

Tonight is different, though. The room he is in melts away as his consciousness does and it's a relief. The weightlessness of it lets his mind wander, free from the pain of drawing breath after so many people he cared about no longer can. 

Richie is a comic, he's the funny guy, not supposed to wade through feelings of this depth - or at least, he's not supposed to talk about them. But the soul-deep comfort he feels as his brain begins to create dreams around him is something he would tell everyone about, if only he were awake to. 

As it is, he is alone, standing in an empty space that seems to sprawl forever in every direction. There is no hard horizon, no left or right or up or down. There is only a soft, hazy warmth, and a cool source of light coming into focus in the distance. It draws closer, bringing something like a summer breeze with it. Richie's mind offers echoes of summers spent with the Losers as kids, warm, breezy days spent with Eddie and their friends. 

As the point of light draws closer, Richie can make out human-like features, a small, slender body, beaming as if lit from within. Shining so brightly, the being should be hotter than the summer sun in Richie's memories, but it radiates something soothing and cool, instead. 

When it draws close enough for Richie to get a better look, he finds himself suddenly unable to look away. 

It’s Eddie. Richie feels his breath catch in his throat, though he isn't even sure he is breathing. Is he dead - is this real? He has no way to be certain, but it doesn't matter, because Eddie is here. And he's beautiful. 

With a glow that Richie can only describe as heavenly radiating from every part of him, Eddie is iridescent. Body and face, he is lit with a pure, shining white light, the way Richie has always imagined angels to look. There is no hard edge to him, only soft, pearlescent light. When he and Richie lock eyes, Richie is absolutely certain he isn't breathing. 

The same big, dark eyes that were so present in Richie’s mind throughout his youth are fixed on him. They are wide and almost fearful, and Richie’s heart rages against his ribs at the clarity of them in comparison to the rest of Eddie’s soft, glowing features. 

“Eds?” he hears himself ask, though he does not open his mouth to speak. Eddie continues looking at him with worry in his eyes. 

“Richie,” he says in reply, like there is a wall between them that he can barely hear Richie through, like he can hardly see him despite only being a few feet apart. Richie tries to reach out for him in response but he is frozen where he stands. Eddie blinks, shaking his head and says, louder, “Rich, please.”

“Eds,” Richie repeats, louder and more insistent. He doesn't understand why his mouth won't work, why he is stuck standing, staring. “Eddie, I'm right here!” 

“Richie, wake up,” Eddie says. Richie’s heart drops, sinking painfully as reality threatens to crumble the corners of his consciousness. It's just a dream. Of course it is. Eddie is dead and Richie is still stuck dealing with the fallout of losing him and everything is still fucking terrible. 

Wishing he could will the charade to last a little longer, Richie frowns, shaking his head. Eddie looks pleading now, those beautiful eyes searching Richie’s face desperately. 

Beyond them both, Richie hears Eddie’s voice again. 

“Rich, come on. Wake up.”

Finally, Richie relents. Perhaps, if he's lucky, he will dream of Eddie again when next he sleeps. For now, he allows the images around him to fade, Eddie’s bright, angelic form the only thing left as everything else goes dark. 

Gasping, Richie finally draws a breath. He blinks hard, feeling his face move in the real world again. His sleep-addled brain continues to project the image of a glowing Eddie, unbound by gravity, hovering before him. Richie shakes his head and stretches, feeling the weight of everything his body and mind have been through in the last few days constricting his muscles. Slapping the nightstand beside him, he locates his glasses, wondering at what time his grief has decided to wake him. He smiles to himself as he thinks about the many times he would soothe Eddie's nightmares at their sleepovers as children, sliding his glasses onto his face and propping himself into bent elbows. 

His heart drops into his stomach once more and his breathing stops - really, this time - as the room comes sharply into focus. 

“Uh, Rich?” 

Richie screams. In front of him - above him, really - hovers the same glowing, angelic image of Eddie from his dreams. Well, perhaps less angelic this time and more terrifying. 

“Richie, don't - it's just--”

Richie cannot hear what the apparition says. He twists fingers in his own hair and screams again, likely waking the entire floor of his hotel. Shaking his head, he tries vainly to scoot away from what he sees, certain it's the clown again, sure it's something that has come to fuck with his mind one more time before finally killing him. 

He knows he is swearing, but he has no idea what he's saying. This town, this world has taken everything from him. Why is this still happening? Why can't he just be free? 

The angel-demon-whatever looks down at him with a mix of fear and frustration, but after another beat of Richie's manic screaming, the irritation seems to take over. It reaches forward like it's going to clap a hand over Richie's mouth, the way Eddie might have when they were children. It scowls that familiar scowl, and something changes in Richie's chest. 

He draws a shaky breath at last just as a painfully-accurate rendition of Eddie's voice cracks, “Can you please be quiet, dickwad?” 

There is a long moment of silence as Eddie's glowing features slip into something softer, something fonder. Richie swallows thickly, summoning his voice despite its protests. 

“Ed- Eds?!” he all but wheezes. Eddie nods, slow, almost amused. 

Richie feels the room spin around him. 

“Holy fucking shit.”


	2. Chapter 2

\--

For a few silent moments, neither of them move. Richie draws a slow breath and then releases it, trying to gather his thoughts. 

He's still dreaming. Or something. He has to be. But he can feel the cheap motel blankets bunched at his thighs and the tangle of the sheets where he tried to scoot away from… Eddie. 

The smoky, shimmering image of Eddie that hovers above him is so frighteningly like the real Eddie that it hurts. Richie looks him over, fear giving way to curiosity - but not entirely. He prods not-Eddie with his sock-clad foot as the apparition comes to sit in front of him. He looks even more like the real Eddie this way. 

Except that Richie's foot goes right through him. Richie swallows. 

“Is this some kind of Christmas Carol shit right now?” he asks. “Where are the other two ghosts? Are you here to teach me some valuable lesson about life?” 

Eddie's eyes narrow and roll. “Yeah, you're a dumbass. That's the lesson.” 

Richie sits up straighter, searching Eddie's face. “Oh my God,” he whispers. “It's really you.” 

“I love that  _ that's _ how you know,” Eddie breathes, but he's badly suppressing a grin. Richie removes his glasses and claps a hand over his eyes, rubbing his temples as he does. 

“Is this real?” he asks, more to himself than to the ghostly figure in front of him. “Am I still dreaming? Am I dead? Can someone tell me what the fuck is happening right now?” 

“I can try,” Eddie says, and Richie raises his eyes to him again. Sliding his glasses back into place, he swallows and steels himself to hear… whatever he is about to hear. 

“Okay. Shoot.” 

Eddie nods, biting his lips together before speaking. “Okay, so, like. It's me.”

“Seems that way, yeah,” Richie replies, though he still isn't sure he believes it. 

“And I'm here,” Eddie continues. 

Richie hums. “Yup. You're here.”

“And I… I don't really know anything else.” It's not the finish Richie is expecting, and Eddie looks back at him with frustration and sadness in his eyes. Richie hates the way those feelings look on him. 

“You don't know how you got here? You didn't, like, choose to be here or anything?” he asks. He watches his tone, tries to keep calm. It's hard, talking to the ghostly image of his recently murdered best friend, but he does his best. 

“Well, sort of,” Eddie says. He looks thoughtful. Cautious. “When… At the Neibolt place. When it… You know…” He makes a circle with his hands, placing them in front of his torso. Richie frowns and nods. “When that happened,” Eddie continues, “I got thrown out. Of my body, I mean. How fucking weird is that? And I was… I didn't know what to do. Everything was dark and cold. But you were there.” 

“I was there,” Richie repeats, hands curling into anxious fists at the thought. “I remember.” 

“I don't know why,” Eddie says next, shaking his head. “I just know that - You were there. And I was scared and pissed and confused. But you were - You were you, y’know? Familiar. Safe. So I went to you. Straight to you. But you couldn't… You didn't notice me. And then everything went dark for a bit.”

Richie tries to process what Eddie is saying, tries to imagine the moment the way he describes it. It's impossible, the trauma blurring the edges of his own recollection to the point that he cannot amend it. Still, he nods his understanding. 

“The next thing I remember was the water. You and Bev and Bill. The others. I saw you crying. I reached out to touch you but my hands just…” Eddie trails off, sniffing hard as punctuation for his sentence. “I've kind of followed you after that. It's hard to explain. Sometimes I could see you. Sometimes I could see things from your perspective. But you were always there. And it made me feel safe. So I stayed. I… I'm sorry. That's probably weird.” 

“Eddie,” Richie begins, with no idea what to even talk about because  _ what the hell do you say to that? _ Eddie shakes his head, scoots forward to sit on bent legs in front of Richie on the bed, burying his face behind equally moonlit-looking hands. 

“I should have said something sooner,” he says hastily. “I should have done something. I didn't really figure out how to make you see me until tonight. But, still. I should have… I'm really sorry, Rich.”

“I love you,” Richie blurts out, because it's true and he needs to say it. He suddenly feels like this is the only chance he'll ever get - and even if it's not, he's already waited too long. “I should have told you. Before.” 

Eddie opens his mouth to speak, brows knitting together, but Richie can't stop talking. 

“That's the worst - God, Eds, I should have said something. Before this. Before it was too - I had forty years! Or at least all those years when we were young, and then the last few days. I'm a moron!” 

Eddie moves his hand to rest on the back of Richie's and smiles. “I know,” he says. When his hand lands, though, it makes Richie jerk away from him in surprise. 

“I… Eddie, I felt that. I  _ felt _ that, holy shit, how did you--” He reaches for Eddie's hand again, but his fingers go straight through as if Eddie is made from nothing more than light. They look up to stare at one another, both frowning. 

“Oh, so it's okay for you to do it but not me?” Richie cracks, though he isn't smiling. Eddie shakes his head, looking down at his own hand in confusion. 

“No? I don't know how I did it!” 

“What do you mean you don't know?” 

“I don't - I'm not sure how all of this works yet, okay?” He runs one hand over the back of the other, then reaches out to touch Richie's arm, frustrated when his hands pass through him like smoke. “Agh! This doesn't - I don't understand!”

“Hey, easy, Eds. It's fine. We'll just Google it.” It's supposed to be a joke, but Eddie just glares harder. Richie feels his heart leap at the familiarity of that expression. 

“We can't fucking  _ Google _ shit about being a… Whatever I am, now. There's no manual for this!” 

“You're a ghost,” Richie says. Eddie looks back at him, eyes wide. 

“You are,” Richie continues. “You're a ghost. Either that or you're, like, my guardian angel.” At that thought, he grins despite himself. “Aww, Eds, what if that's it? What if heaven for you is just following me around, keeping me out of trouble for another forty years?” 

“Fine, I'm a ghost,” Eddie says quickly. The furrow of his brow is evident despite his translucence. It makes Richie grin wider. 

“So, back to why you can touch me but I can't touch you,” he says. “Maybe that's, like, part of the rules or something? Maybe the ghost handbook dictates-”

“There's no fucking handbook, Rich!” Eddie groans, dragging a hand down his face. “God, why aren't you more weirded out by all of this? And I have no idea why that happened. I haven't been able to touch anything or anyone since I… since this happened. That was the first time.” 

“Oh, so I'm special, huh?” Richie grins. Eddie rolls his eyes but doesn't bother denying it. 

“What I'm saying is it was an accident. Or out of my control, anyway. And you freaked out and it freaked me out and then I lost it.” 

“Hey, it's okay,” Richie says, and Eddie gives him those same big, dark eyes he showed him not long before he died - eyes that trust him. It almost keeps him from cracking jokes at Eddie's expense. Almost. 

“Lots of people have performance issues under pressure,” he says, and Eddie moves away from him, groaning again. 

“Anyway,” he says at last, still looking entirely finished with Richie's bullshit, “I was trying to respond to the fact that you told me something kind of important a minute ago. Remember?” 

Richie's sleep-deprived brain takes a moment, but then he remembers. “Oh. Yeah. I, uh. I mean that, Eddie. I love you.” 

Eddie stares at him in reply, a small smile on his face. “I know you do. Now, anyway. I wish you had told me… The kissing bridge?” 

Richie's heart skips several beats, eyes widening of their own volition as he looks back at Eddie's glowing face. “You… How do you know? Did you always know?” 

“I saw,” Eddie says, like he's admitting to a secret. “I… I was with you. Then. When you went back. I could even see your memories. Or, like, pieces of them.” 

“You… What?!” 

“Yeah,” Eddie says with a nod, body language tightening like he is on the verge of clamming up. “I could see what you were seeing, and I could kind of feel your memories more than see them, I guess? It was the weirdest part of all this, I think. But, I. Yeah. I saw. I know.” 

“Okay, but…” Richie trails off, mind hurriedly piecing a puzzle together as Eddie watches him, visibly anxious. “Does that mean - have you been with me all the time? Since then?” 

“Basically?” Eddie replies. Richie groans. 

“What?” Eddie asks, looking more nervous by the second. Richie looks at him soberly. 

“You saw me shower! You saw me take a shit!” 

“Richie!” Eddie hisses, and his scandalized face is honestly worth the embarrassment for Richie. “I didn't… I wasn't  _ watching _ you!” Eddie insists. “I was just kind of there. In the background.”

“That doesn't make sense, Eds.” Richie yawns before he can stop himself, stretching to keep his legs from cramping. As he does, he runs a hand along his side, waggling his eyebrows in Eddie's direction. “You know you were checkin’ all this out while I was in the shower.” 

“If it helps you sleep at night to think that, go ahead,” Eddie says flatly. Richie snorts. 

“After you poked me awake to be like, ‘Boo! I'm a ghost!’ I don't think I'm gonna have a sound night's sleep ever again.” 

“I'm sorry,” Eddie says genuinely. It makes Richie's chest ache. “I just… I wanted you to know I was here.” 

“I'm glad you did,” says Richie, as authentically as he has ever spoken to anyone. He wishes he could reach out to reassure him, but he is content to settle for whatever closeness that sitting together in the little room can offer them. “So, what happens now?” 

“What do you mean?” Eddie asks. Richie motions at him. 

“Do you fade away now, or do I get to keep you around for a while, or what?” 

“I… I don't really know,” Eddie admits. “All I know is that I'm here and so far, I seem to be stuck with you.” He finishes his sentence with a little grin that Richie wagers he doesn't know anyone can see. Richie smiles in reply anyway. 

“Lucky me. I have no idea how to entertain living guests, though. Much less dead ones.” 

Eddie shudders at the word 'dead'; Richie scoots a little closer to him, desperately wishing he could take his hand, cup his cheek - do something to comfort him. Instead, he leans into his space and drops his voice until its soft and low. 

“Hey, listen. You're welcome here. With me. Wherever I go. Whatever I do, I don't care. I'm glad you're here.” 

“I'm here,” Eddie repeats, looking almost through Richie as if captivated by… something. “That's all I really know for sure.” He twists his mouth to one side like he's thinking about his words before he says them. “I know that when that happened, I left myself... I left it behind. The pain stopped. And now I'm here with you, and. That's what I want. To stay where you are. So I’m not alone. It's less scary, that way. It always has been.” 

“Eds…” Richie begins, but he can't say anything else. He just stares at Eddie, willing himself to memorize every moment of their conversation. If this is just a wild dream, he wants to remember it forever. 

“I know you have to leave, though,” Eddie says after a moment. “I know you can't stay here forever. I'm not asking you to.”

“Can you not - Why don't you just come with me?” Richie asks. The question is out of his mouth before he even has time to think it over, because  _ of course _ he wants Eddie with him. Eddie twists his mouth to the side again, hesitating. 

“Can I - Can we do that, though?” he asks. “Can I leave Derry?” 

Richie shakes his head. “I don't know. You're the ghost, not me.” 

“I don't know how this works, either!” he insists. Richie can't help but laugh. 

“We'll figure it out as we go, then. Just fake it ‘til we make it. That's always worked for me before.”

“That has literally never worked for you before, but okay,” Eddie chuckles. The breathy sound of his laugh makes Richie's stomach flutter like he's fourteen again. 

“Let's just try, though. Okay? Come home with me. You don't have anything better to do here, do you?” 

“Obviously not,” Eddie agrees. He thinks for a long moment, frowning. “What about my life back home, though? What about my job? I've got that insurance claim to follow up with, and… What about Myra?” 

“Your wife?” Richie asks, the word sour on his tongue. “Your job? Eddie, everyone you know thinks you're dead.”

“I  _ am _ dead,” Eddie says, and it sounds a little painful in his voice. 

“Exactly,” Richie says. “Look, I know this is stupid. It's dumb and it's weird and it's insane and you couldn't prepare for it like you like to. But Eds, hasn't all of this shit been that way? Hasn't fighting a fucking demon clown monster thing taught you anything?” He's serious, but his words draw a shaky, little laugh from Eddie. It only encourages him. “This is a chance for you to have a fresh start. Do what Eddie wants instead of what everyone else wants. Just… Do things  _ different. _ I would say live your life, but, like. You know.”

Eddie laughs again, and he keeps laughing this time. Richie grins, pride and that warm, fuzzy feeling that Eddie has always given him washing over him in equal turns. 

“So, what do you say? Come back to Chicago with me?” he asks. 

Eddie nods, though his expression is that special Eddie brand of hesitant. “Okay, yeah. Yeah. But. God, though, Rich - almost thirty years of my life just - It's easy to just forget everything outside of Derry while you're in it, isn't it?” 

Richie shrugs. “I'd like to think it's more an  _ us _ thing than a Derry thing, but whatever works, I guess. Besides, this is kind of an extenuating circumstance.” Richie says the last two words with gusto, maybe a little proud that he remembered the phrase on such little sleep. He fixes his eyes firmly on Eddie. “So, is that a yes? You'll come with me?” 

“I will,” Eddie says. “But only because I have literally no other options.” 

Richie  _ beams. _ “Eddie, my love, you flatter me.” 

Though there is no flush to his cheeks, Richie can sense Eddie flustering. He shifts where he sits, looking away while still speaking just loudly enough that Richie can hear. 

“Weird to think you actually mean that kind of shit when you say it now,” he says. Richie leans in closer. 

“What kind of shit is that, my dear?” 

Eddie battles back a smile. “That. Calling me names like that. Cutesy shit like you did when we were kids. Guess you mean that now, huh?” 

“Ah, Eds,” Richie says, grinning again to beat the bright glow of Eddie's flustered face. “I've always meant it.”

On instinct, Richie reaches for Eddie's face. For a fleeting moment, he can feel cool, smooth skin beneath his hand. He gives a quiet little gasp, reverent at the feeling. It disappears in seconds, Eddie becoming smoky and impossible to hold again. But the memory of the feeling lingers on the palm and fingers of Richie's hand and he clutches it as if holding that memory close. 

“So, uh, listen. This is the part of the movie where the guy usually gets to kiss the pretty girl. But since you're a ghost and can't seem to keep it up around me-”

“I'm not a pretty girl, either,” Eddie says flatly, one eyebrow raised. “And will you quit talking about it like that? I'm still learning how to… How to be a ghost, or whatever.”

“First of all, you're beautiful, and second, I'm sure you'll overcome your performance issues in time, Eds,” Richie grins. Eddie moves to shove him but his hands push straight through his shoulder instead. Richie laughs at the disgruntled huff Eddie gives before straightening himself again. 

“What I'm saying is, since I can't put my signature moves on you and try to convince you to love me back, how ‘bout we compromise and just watch a movie or something. Sun will be up in a few hours, anyway.” 

“You need to sleep,” Eddie argues. Richie blinks back at him. 

“Do you not?” 

Eddie shakes his head. “I don't think so. I haven't so far. I guess I don't need to.” 

Richie nods, impressed. “Sounds awesome, honestly.”

“I'm guessing you're still a dumbass who stays up half the night, then,” Eddie says, fondness clear at the edges of his voice. Richie shrugs. 

“Always have been, always will be. Although, being an old man makes it harder to stay up and rage all night.” 

“The most raging you ever did was drinking smuggled beer at high school parties and showing your ass to the cops,” Eddie snorts. Richie lays back, calling those memories to mind. 

“Hey, I've had some fun since then. I did go to college for a little while. Been to some parties after my shows. Shit like that.” 

“All insane, I'm sure,” Eddie laughs. Richie shakes his head. 

“Nah. Honestly? The best parties I ever went to were the high school ones. I always hoped you and I would get drunk and play truth or dare or some shit. Spin the bottle.”

Eddie's face goes soft then, features less guarded, more vulnerable as he looks back at Richie. 

“You… You've liked me that long?” 

“Loved,” Richie corrects him. “And God, yeah. You've been The Guy since before I even knew it was guys for me, Eds. Like… I would put a ring on it  _ right now  _ if that were possible. But since you can't wear a ring, I guess I'll have to live with my missed chances.” 

He’s trying to joke, trying to sound confident as he speaks. Eddie sees right through it - just as he always has. 

“That's… That's a big deal, Rich. I didn't realize.” 

“Yeah, well. You're here now. At least we can hang out for as long as you're around, right? And you know. I told you all that before you went to the great insurance agency in the sky, or whatever the fuck is out there.” 

“God, I hope it's not an insurance agency,” Eddie groans, and it breaks the tension, just a bit. He fixes a stare on Richie that brings it right back, though. 

“Rich, I… I really wish I had known. All of this. Before. Before I left Derry. Before I got married. But it... I'm glad you told me.” 

“Surely it was at least a little obvious,” Richie says. His chest hurts, both full to overflowing and painfully empty in a way he has never experienced. Eddie shrugs. 

“I'm not extremely observant,” he says. “But, I mean, looking back? Yeah. Kind of.” 

“You don't have to love me back,” Richie says before he can stop himself. When Eddie looks at him like  _ he's _ the strange, glowing apparition in the room, Richie swallows, clarifying. “I mean… I know I said all of that stuff just now. And I meant it. But you don't have to. I don't want you to say it just because you feel obligated or some shit.”

Eddie blinks at him like the words are sinking in slowly. When they finally seem to reach him, his eyes widen and he nods. 

“I… Thank you, Rich. That. That means a lot, actually.” He looks down at his hands, like the thoughts he is collecting might be there. “For what it's worth, I just don't know if I'm… I guess maybe I'm not there yet? I want to be near you and learn more about you. You're an adult with a real life now and I feel like I only know fourteen-year-old Richie.” He laughs, but it sounds sad. “I would be lying if I said I didn't care about you. Like I said, you feel safe to me. Comfortable. There's always been  _ something _ there. I guess I've just always been afraid to let it happen.” 

“Well, nothing stoppin’ you now, is there?” Richie grins, lopsided and wobbly as he tries to keep from crying. Eddie shakes his head, smiling so pretty it breaks Richie's resolve and the tears fall. 

Richie's eyes close and he laughs, though it could probably be described as more of a sob. Eddie doesn't laugh at him, but with him. They sit close for a few moments while Richie lets himself fall apart. It is the cool press of Eddie's forehead against his that puts him back together. 

Eddie's eyes are closed now. Richie says nothing this time, pointedly silent and marveling at the feeling of Eddie somehow touching him in a way that he can feel. It doesn't last long, fading away the same way it did before. But it seems more intentional this time, and when Eddie opens his big, beautiful doe eyes just a breath away from Richie's, everything feels okay. 

It shouldn't. Richie is distantly aware of that much. He has witnessed so much, lost so much in such a short time. He still has fucking grief to process, or whatever. And then there's the fact that, somehow, Eddie is here with him now. There isn't even a self-help book for that kind of shit - and he has no idea how to begin dealing with any of it on his own. 

But for the moment, at least, everything is alright. 

“I'm so glad you're here,” Richie says, breath still stuttering. Eddie nods. 

“Me too.” 

Something feels amiss when Richie can't pull Eddie into his arms after that, but he is true to his word, happy to settle for just spending time with him. Richie searches for movies on the little television at the end of the bed. They argue about whether Avatar was as “culturally significant” as Eddie claims it was, and everything feels like it should with Eddie beside him. Everything, save for the fact that Richie cannot reach out and touch him. 

“You really should have gotten some sleep,” Eddie laments when the sun begins to peek through the long, vertical blinds. Richie yawns again and stretches, shaking his head. 

“And miss you griping at me? Never.” 

“You can't stay up all night, every night, though,” Eddie warns. “You will eventually have to sleep.” 

“Tonight was kind of a special occasion,” Richie argues, though insecurity bites at him. “But, I mean. What if you, like, disappear? While I'm sleeping.” 

Eddie looks at him then, understanding breaking across his features. “Richie... I'm not planning on going anywhere. I told you.”

“Yeah, but you said you don't know the rules of this whole ghost thing yet, remember? What if while I'm sleeping your ghost timer just goes off and you're like-”

“Ghost timer?” Eddie interrupts. Richie waves him quiet. 

“Whatever, okay? You know what I mean! What if I just wake up one morning and you're gone?” 

Eddie moves closer to him, looking him straight in the eye. It's a look that Richie has never been able to look away from; he wonders if Eddie realizes as much. 

“You're right,” Eddie says. “I don't know the rules. And I hate that. You know me and rules.” He grins, a little sideways-slanted smile that makes Richie's heart feel lighter. “But I know that if I have a say in it, I'm not going anywhere. Okay?” 

“Sounds pretty sappy, Eds,” Richie says, though he can't stop himself from smiling, now. Eddie shrugs. 

“Yeah? So does your mom when we fuck.” 

Richie finally laughs aloud, prompting Eddie to do the same. His alarm goes off and Richie reaches for his phone, still wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He doesn't know if it's from crying or laughing. It doesn't really matter. 

“Good morning,” Eddie jokes. Richie nods, but when he looks back up at Eddie, he sees a more colorful version of his friend, lit now as if by the rising sun. Richie's breath catches for a long moment. 

“Good morning,” he finally whispers in reply. He doesn't know which of them leans in first, but he's all at once very close to Eddie's face, barely a breath away from closing the space between their lips. There is no time to wonder if he would be able to feel those lips on his, there is only increasing closeness as Eddie leans further into his space and he mirrors the movement - and then, a sharp knock at the door. 

“Aughh, fuck, really?” Richie breathes out, ignoring the way it makes Eddie snort with laughter. He rises from his place on the bed and walks toward the door on instinct. His legs ache and his body is tired. He doesn't have pants on. He also doesn't care. 

“Wait!” Eddie hisses. Richie is only a few steps from the door now, looking back at him in confusion. Eddie looks at him like he should understand, gesturing wildly at himself when Richie doesn't get it. 

“What?” Richie asks. He blinks back a yawn but doesn't succeed in keeping it at bay. Eddie turns - somehow without the use of any of his limbs - and faces him. 

“Me!” he says quietly. “What if - Who is that? Do you know? What if they see me? What if I'm not allowed to be seen? What if I'm supposed to keep people from-”

“Is that in the rule book?” Richie asks. Eddie nearly growls. 

“No, it's - There's not a fucking rule book, Richie! I just don't know what might happen. We can't let someone see me like this!” 

“Who says they'll even be able to see you?” Richie contends, moving closer to the door when the knock comes again. 

“And what if they can?” Eddie asks. “How do we explain that?” 

“It's probably not even someone we know,” Richie says, probably far too loudly as he unlocks the door and lets it swing open. 

Beverly and Ben look back at him from the hotel hallway. 

“Hey, sleepyhead,” Bev says, smiling. “We just wanted to stop by and tell everyone goodbye before we all part ways again.” 

Richie nods without thinking. When Ben offers him a warm cup of coffee shop coffee, he takes it, glad for something to keep him awake after the night he's had. His night with -  _ oh, shit. _

Before he can turn to ensure that Eddie is sufficiently hidden or that he can somehow distract Bev to keep her from entering his room, he misses his chance. Bev gasps and grips her coffee cup too tightly, sending it spilling all over the floor in front of her. Richie feels his stomach drop as a very confused Ben moves to her side and follows her eyes to Richie's unmade bed. 

Bev takes a step forward, then one backward before whispering, disbelieving,  _ “Eddie?”  _

Richie pushes the door closed with a quiet click, hoping it doesn't make him seem like a total serial killer. _Fuck, it probably does._ Ben’s panicked expression sure makes it seem that way. Richie clears his throat.

“So, uh. I guess I have a few things to tell you guys.”

\--


End file.
